


Punch Drunk Love

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8227988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: What if Mark had asked Bridget out on that fateful night where he told her how he felt? And what if she had accepted? An plot twist to Bridget Jones's Diary where Mark asks Bridget out, and he remembers what it's like to drunkenly have a crush on someone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something that's been turning over in my head. I've always loved that first build-up of "what if?" in a new relationship, and alcohol usually fuels that moment on quite nicely. Obviously none of these characters are mine--they belong to Helen Fielding.

_ I can’t believe this is happening right now _ , Mark thought to himself as he fumbled to get his house key into the front door lock. Bridget was beside him, emanating body heat and giggles. “Need help?” she said, stepping in closer to him. The amount they both had drank on their first date was close to deplorable...at least for Mark. It was only a week ago that he followed Bridget down the staircase in Magda and Jeremy’s house after the terribly uncomfortable couples’ dinner they had thrown. He had been building up the courage for weeks to finally tell her how he felt about her--especially after her cringe worthy debut on television that oddly left him feeling more smitten than he had before--and when he finally expressed to her how he felt, it came out far less romantic than he had intended. Mark had noticed the rollercoaster of emotion that had crossed over Bridget’s face as he spit out what he wanted to say, and was relieved to see a glimmer of happiness by the end of his uncomfortable declaration.

After he had told her that he liked her--just as she was--Bridget had smiled. It wasn’t a grin, and it wasn’t a smirk, but it was just enough to let him know that she appreciated his confession. Bridget’s smile served as Mark’s gateway to asking her out on a proper date. He knew that she had been out with Daniel Cleaver, but he hadn’t felt this strongly about someone in a  _ very _ long time. He had looked her in the eye and said, “If you’re free next Friday, I really would like to take you out. You know...without any other couples around. Just the two of us.” The blue eyes that he had found himself getting more and more lost in lit up, and Bridget replied, “Oh, um, wow. Yes, sure. I’d love to, Mark.” In that second, Mark felt his chest swell with warmth, and he smiled at her. “I’m glad,” he said, just as he heard Natasha’s high heeled shoes on the tile floor. 

He grimaced as he heard her honey smooth voice cut across the foyer, and he could see Bridget’s face fall as she saw her. As if the entire situation wasn’t embarrassing enough, Natasha had the audacity to then snap at him, as if summoning a dog. Mark could see the disgust flash in Bridget’s eyes, and he quietly said to her, “It’s a date, then. Meet me at The Crosse Keys pub around 7.” She nodded as he turned on his heel, and he went to follow Natasha back to the party. He knew that Natasha probably heard him, but he hadn’t cared--he finally had pulled the trigger on saying something he wanted to say for a while, and nothing could take him down from that high.

 

Fast forward a week later, and here Mark was, inebriated beyond what he’d been since uni, with a beautiful woman that was equally as inebriated as he. Earlier that night, Bridget had shown up at The Crosse Keys at 7:10, in a black skirt, black tights, and a snug cream sweater. The scarf around her neck framed her face, and her black overcoat had a very light dusting of snow on the shoulders. The apples of Bridget’s cheeks were bright pink from the cold, and Mark had thought to himself she never looked more beautiful. After exchanging slightly awkward formalities, the night kind of took on a life of its own. What started out as innocent glasses of wine with dinner turned into mixed drinks and loosened ties, the flow of conversation seeming to never cease. Mark was totally taken by the banter that Bridget could engage him in...from serious topics to absolutely asinine tangents, Mark was enraptured by her quick wit and engaging personality.

After sitting in the pub for close to 3 hours, Mark suggested they go back to his home in Holland Park. Bridget had smiled over the rim of her cocktail and nodded. “Sure,” she said. The feeling of warmth spreading through his chest was unmistakable as he smiled back at her. Mark helped Bridget back into her coat, and they stood outside of the pub while Mark hailed a cab. Bridget stood close to Mark, barely grazing his arm, clearly seeking out some of Mark’s body heat. The snow had started falling again, and cabs seemed to be sparse outside of the pub. He looked down at her, at the snow landing softly in her hair and occasionally settling on her eyelashes. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot, her hands jammed into her coat pockets and breathing into her scarf to keep from freezing. “Are you alright?” he asked. Bridget lifted her face to look at him and said, “Never better.”

The cab ride back to his home had been innocent. It seemed that once they left the bubble of the pub, they had to start the whole “getting to know each other” process all over again. There was the occasional awkward exchange of polite conversation, but not much else. They sat next to each other, mostly in silence, Mark’s hand flexing on the seat next to him as he suppressed the urge to grab hers. He still couldn't believe he had asked her back to his house,  _ and _ that she had accepted. As the cab trundled through the snowy streets of London, he couldn't help but steal a glance at her. Her profile was just as beautiful as her face. The slope of her nose, the pout of her lips, the fullness of her cheeks...he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it the first time they met. 

When the cab pulled up to his house, he noticed Bridget's look of disbelief. “ _ This  _ is your house?” she had said, looking up at the two stories. Mark had felt the back of his neck flush as he nodded. “It's really too much for just one person,” he mumbled as he approached the front stoop, fumbling in his pocket for his key. “I'll say,” he heard her murmur behind him as he listened to the crunch of the snow beneath her feet. 

Mark finally retrieved the key from his pocket and began to disengage the lock from the bolt, but it was proving far more difficult than it normally was. He heard Bridget offer help as she stepped in closer. He could smell her perfume, a spicy warmth that he had never smelled on a woman before.  _ Matches her personality,  _ he thought to himself, failing miserably at suppressing the smile that crept onto his face. “Are you sure you don't need help?” Bridget repeated. “I'm sure,” he replied, closing one eye to better focus. The key slipped seamlessly into the lock and Mark let out a sigh of relief. “There we are.”

Mark stepped into the foyer and felt Bridget close behind him. “Let me get your coat,” he said, turning around into her. Their difference in height became clearly evident as the top of her head brushed under his chin. Bridget's nose basically was buried in his chest, and the scent of her perfume was even stronger than on his front step. “Oh god, I'm sorry,” Mark murmured, taking a step back as Bridget let out a snort of laughter. “I never really realized how tall you are,” she said, her face shining from amusement and the cold. “Just a touch over six feet,” he replied, stepping around her to remove her jacket. “ _ Very _ tall, then,” she replied as he helped slide the snow covered coat off of her arms. 

After discarding their coats in the closet by the front door, Mark showed her into the living room and said, “Make yourself comfortable. I'll go grab us something to drink.” He returned minutes later with two glasses of wine-- _ Not that we need them _ \--to find Bridget leafing through his record collection that was displayed against the wall. “Here you are,” he said, handing her the glass. She turned to his direction and said, “Records, huh? Quite hipster of you, Mr. Darcy. You didn't strike me as the vinyl loving type.” Mark felt his ears turn red as he cleared his throat. 

 

“I'm not sure if I would consider my choices ‘hipster’. It's a lot of classical pieces, some singer and standard albums...my parents always played them when I was younger so I inherited part of their collection when I went to uni.”

 

“Ohhh, I see. I should've guessed you were a classical aficionado. I'm bereft that there isn't any Madonna in here.” 

 

“Aficionado is a very strong word. I just appreciate the sound. Are you a big Madonna fan?”

 

“You could say that...really anything I can dance to.”

 

“Well,” Mark said as he brushed by her, making a conscious point to make contact with her as he passed by, “I don't have any club music, but there are a few records in here that I'm fond of. Mind if I put one on?” Bridget took a sip of wine and nodded. “By my guest.” Mark flipped through the records, and finally settled on “A Love Supreme” by John Coltrane. The record crackled to life and Coltrane’s saxophone cut across the living room. Mark turned around, expecting to see Bridget on his couch, but instead she was laying on his floor with her wine glass resting on her stomach. “Are you alright?” he asked, slightly alarmed. “Mhmm,” was her response. “I just felt like the floor was a must more appropriate beatnik spot than the couch.” Her eye slid open and she smirked at him. Mark chose to roll with the fun being poked at him and smiled. 

“May I?” he said, standing next to her prone figure on his floor. Her eye slid open again and she said, “Absolutely. Can you lower the lights before you do? They're blinding.” Mark obliged and lowered the recessed lighting in the room. It cast a romantic glow on his normally stark, clinical living space--the white walls became warmer and his furniture looked better in shadow.  _ The woman on my floor doesn't hurt, either,  _ thought Mark as he grabbed two throw pillows from the couch. “Here,” he said, offering one of them to Bridget. She grabbed it out of his hand and slid it behind her head, then patted the floor next to her. 

Mark tossed the pillow onto the floor, took a swig of his wine, and settled himself next to Bridget with much less grace than he normally would have. The drinks from the pub still were percolating through his bloodstream, and he could tell from the high flush on Bridget's cheeks that they were probably doing the same to her. With just about an inch between them, Mark’s heart started to beat a little faster than normal. He had to admit, he'd never listened to his records while lying on the floor, but it was actually quite nice. It made you focus on the sound and less on what was around you. “Nice, isn't it?” Bridget said, turning her head to look at him. 

Her lips were full, eyes sparkling, and Mark took all of his self restraint to not kiss her. He cleared his throat and said, “I'm pleasantly surprised, honestly. This is one of my favorite albums.” 

 

“Coltrane, isn't it?”

 

“Yes, it is. I'm surprised you knew...he isn't exactly Madonna.”

 

“I know who Coltrane is. I had a  _ very _ eclectic roommate at uni...we used to smoke pot and listen...to…Coltrane. Bugger, probably shouldn't have mentioned that on the first date.” 

 

“Pot, hmmm? Is that the most scandalous thing you did at uni?” 

 

“Pffft, not by a long shot. Did  _ you _ smoke while you were at uni?”

 

“No, not me. I had friends that did, but I was too focused on my studies to get caught up in it. Daniel Cleaver was always taking a poke and tried numerous times to get me to partake, but I didn't. I suppose it kind of locked in my reputation as being a stuffed shirt.” 

 

“Ah, gotcha.” There was a pause, and then Bridget said, “Well, to answer your question, my most scandalous moment at uni was in my second year. After  _ several  _ rounds of vodka crans, my friends dared me to streak across the bridge that connected our two sides of campus, and back then, I'd  _ never  _ back down from a dare, especially when drunk. So I took everything off in the middle of February and ran stark naked across the campus. Paid for it dearly with a bout of pneumonia afterwards, but I like to think that I’m something of a legend.”

Mark, spurred on by the alcohol, gave her a sly grin and said, “It seems that you enjoy running around with no clothes on.” He could see the color in her cheeks go from pink to red as she lolled her head back onto the pillow. She let out a sigh and looked over at him. “You’re really never going to let me live that down, are you?” she said. “I mean, I personally don’t remember it that vividly, but for both of our mothers to so fondly recollect it, it must’ve been a sight,” he said. Bridget scrunched her face up a bit, then took a sip of wine. Mark liked seeing her flustered...she handled herself surprisingly well. “How about you, Mr. Fancy Pants? What’s the most scandalous thing  _ you _ did at uni?” 

It was Mark’s turn to now blush, as he thought back on his younger years. He cleared his throat and said, “Oh, nothing major. You know...occasionally skip class, things like that. I wasn’t much of a scandalous person...I’m still not.” He focused on the wine glass in his hand, trying not to make eye contact with Bridget. He suddenly felt her hand against his cheek, like a whisper. Bridget gave his face a small rub with the back of her hand and she said, “Your cheeks tell me differently.” He felt his chest constrict at the sudden physical contact she was making with him.  _ Is this a...crush? Good lord, Mark, when is the last time you had a crush on someone _ ? Mark allowed his gaze to make its way to Bridget’s face. She was now laying on her side, her left arm extended out towards his face where her hand still rested. She looked angelic in the low light of the room, her golden hair shimmering around her face. “I promise I won’t tell,” she murmured, giving his cheek a quick squeeze before pulling her hand away.

Mark gave her a sideways glance, took an incredibly large breath and slowly let it out. “I don't really know who even knows this story,” he began. “At the time it didn't seem scandalous, but Cleaver had someone acquired a very good bottle of whiskey right before Christmas break in our third year. Our finals had just finished up and it had been a particularly stressful bout of them, so I was ready to relax. A whole bunch of us finished the bottle before going out to a pub, and I suppose I drank more than I normally do, so I was feeling...what’s the word? Bulletproof. We got to the pub, and of course Daniel was pushing everyone to drink more, and one thing led to another, which in turn caused me to bump into a very pretty girl I had seen around campus. She was tall, Asian, very smart...we struck up a conversation and the next thing I knew, Daniel was shoving us out the pub door, patting me on the back and whispering in my ear, ‘Go get ‘em, old boy.’ The space between the pub and campus is still very fuzzy to me, but the next  _ very _ clear moment I remember is being caught with my pants around my ankles by the librarian in the law section of the library. Apparently she liked to stay late before holidays to make sure everything was in order, and she wasn’t too pleased to find the....well, the  _ position _ we were in.”

He allowed his eyes to meet with Bridget’s, and they were as wide as saucers. “Stop,” she said as a grin started to spread across her face. “ _ You?  _ Had sex in the  _ library _ ? Mark-Top-Barrister-Darcy?” She was laughing now, without much inhibition, and Mark was taken aback. He didn’t really know  _ what _ to expect as her reaction, but it surely wasn’t this. “I’m not as wholesome and good as you think,” he muttered in response. “Clearly,” Bridget responded. She was now laying completely on her side, her head propped up on her hand, the other hand running circles around the rim of her wine glass. “What happened to the girl? Was she mortified?” Mark looked in her direction and said, point blank, “She married me.” Bridget’s eyes grew even wider, her mouth slack. “Oh, Mark, I’m so sorry...I forgot you’ve been married before.”

 

“It’s alright. I’m better off, honestly. Turns out Daniel had seen her across the bar and wanted her for himself, but I suppose drunk me is much more forward than sober me. It only took him two weeks after I married her to finally make his move, though, so I guess he got what he wanted in the end.” 

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“Daniel wasn’t the greatest friend. That’s why I suppose I’ve been so...standoffish about you knowing him and dating him. He’s not trustworthy.”

 

“Mark...he told me that it was  _ you _ who slept with  _ his _ wife, not the other way around. Oh, I feel like such a fool now. I should have known, honestly. It didn’t seem like something a top human rights barrister would do, but I guess I let my judgment get clouded.”

 

At this, Mark couldn’t help but let out a bitter chuckle. “Of course he’d lie to you about it.” Bridget let her eyes drop and said, “Well, the important thing is the present. We’re both here now, no Daniel Cleaver in sight, and to be honest, I’m having the best night I’ve had in a very long time. And do you know who I have to thank for that? You, Mark Darcy. So, thank you. I can’t remember the last time I got this squiffy without dancing on a bar, and you’re the one to thank. You’ve saved me from one more night of utter cringeworthy behavior.” He looked at her, amazed at this woman in front of him who was just being herself. There was no wall, no front, no facade to clamber over. Bridget was truly a breath of fresh air, and he knew he couldn’t hold off any longer. 

“I’d really like to kiss you,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. Her face flushed and she smiled. “Oh really,” she murmured. “I suppose you could, but the record stopped and it’d be awfully awkward if we didn’t flip it.” Mark smirked and got up. He flipped the record, placed his wine glass on the coffee table, and grabbed Bridget’s wine from the floor. She was on her back now, hands clasped across her stomach, looking up at him with a smile on her face. Mark lowered himself next to her, holding his weight up on a bent arm. “Sweet Bridget,” he whispered, taking his free hand and allowing himself to finally run a finger across her cheek. It was just as soft as he imagined it to be, warm from the wine. Bridget lifted her hand and grabbed the loose tie that was still around his neck. “Let’s see how good boys really kiss,” she answered, pulling him closer by the tie. 

As their lips met, Mark realized that intoxicated him  _ was _ far more forward than sober him, and he hoped with all of his might that this time a rogue librarian didn’t interrupt the moment.


End file.
